


Kiss and Make Up

by Russ (Quasar)



Series: Time Heals [11]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Domestic Violence, M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 14:03:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2071083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quasar/pseuds/Russ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair tries to move their relationship forward; Jim reacts badly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss and Make Up

**Author's Note:**

> Written March 1998. Takes place after the episode "Girl Next Door."

Jim finished saying goodbye to their guests and turned back into the loft. "Give me some more of that stuff, will you Chief?"

Blair looked down at the dishes he was clearing from the table. "Which stuff, Jim? Most of it's gone. That was the whole point of inviting Simon and Joel."

"The dessert stuff. What did you say it was, dates and maple syrup?"

Blair's eyebrows went up. "Sure, man, if you don't mind the mold."

"Come on, Sandburg," Jim said as he spooned some of the delicious mixture onto a plate. "Do you really think you could keep moist dates under the sink for a few weeks without me noticing?" He took a judicious bite. "I don't smell any mold, I don't taste any mold. And you're the one that's always telling me to trust my senses."

Blair laughed. "Okay man, you got me. So why'd you play along?"

"I didn't want Joel to eat the whole thing. Wanted to save some for myself."

"Well, I'll help you finish it off. Here, let me get in there." Blair insinuated a spoon and stole a big lump of the tasty mash.

When the last of the dessert was gone, they began cleaning up together, coordinating their movements without having to speak. Jim brought the dishes from the table, scraping them into the trash, while Blair started them soaking in hot water. It was a familiar, soothing routine for both of them.

"So you don't have to do that stakeout again tonight?" Blair asked as Jim returned from taking out the trash and began pulling plates out of the drainer to dry.

"Nah, I told you it wouldn't break at night. The whole thing went down this afternoon while we were out in Fremont. Brown and Rafe got the collar."

"Great. So you can get some sleep for a change, huh?"

"Yeah, I could really use some." After putting the last plate in the cabinet, Jim wandered into the living room and slumped on the couch, clicking on CNN with the sound turned low.

Blair rinsed and wiped the sink, poured himself some tea, and came out to collapse into the cushions with a sigh. "I'm ready for a rest myself."

"At least you survived the train wreck," Jim commented idly.

"Huh?"

"I gotta hand it to you, Sandburg, you are the only man I know who has worse taste in women than I do."

"Oh, is that why you have that date-only-once rule?"

Jim snorted.

Blair sat up and looked at his partner seriously. "You know Jim, you had it in for Iris from the moment you met her."

"Well, she didn't exactly make a great first impression, waking me up at ten in the morning."

"Yeah, but you were on her case from the start. Were you really checking out mug shots even before you heard about the trouble at the drug store?"

"So what if I was?" Jim clicked the channel over to ESPN, but there was nothing of interest there either. He turned the TV off.

"It was awfully early to be suspicious, man."

"Something just didn't seem right about her."

"Uh-huh. You know what I think? I think you were jealous."

Jim ran his hands over his face. "Didn't we just have this discussion a couple weeks ago?"

"Yeah, and as I recall, you changed the subject right away."

"All right, Sandburg, here it is, straight up. I wasn't jealous. I just had the feeling that I had seen her face before, in some context that wasn't good. Considering that her mug shot had been pinned up around the station for months, my hunch turned out to be pretty reliable, wouldn't you say?"

"Enhhh . . . no. Your logic is a little off there, Jim. You haven't established an exact chain of causality."

"Fine, so the evidence is circumstantial. It still makes more sense than your theory. Why would I be jealous?"

"Because, when I form outside attachments, it threatens what we have between us." Blair gestured from Jim's chest to his own.

Jim looked at his young friend suspiciously. "And just what do we have between us?"

"Chemistry, man. We have a connection. No, listen! When I was out there, I knew you were coming for me. I just never questioned it."

"It was a pretty safe bet, Sandburg."

"I wasn't betting -- I knew. And you knew just how to find me."

"It's called detective work."

"But there's more to it than that! I don't know, maybe it's a Sentinel/shaman sort of a thing. But there's something between the two of us."

"We have a good working partnership, Chief. Don't cheapen it."

"Cheapen it! No way, man. If you look inside yourself, really look hard, you'll see what I mean. We have a relationship that goes way beyond working together. That's not cheap, that's . . . riches beyond counting!"

Jim stared at his partner. His muscles were suddenly tense. "What the hell are you talking about, Sandburg?"

"This, man. I'm talking about this." Blair leaned forward and covered Jim's mouth with his own.

Flavor and scent exploded across Jim's mind; he closed his eyes reflexively to isolate the sensations. He felt lush lips press against his own, a sandpapery rasp just above, a moist tongue probing inward as he opened his mouth. Scent brought him the familiar warm spice of his partner, overlaid with tea tree shampoo and sandalwood aftershave. There was the smoky-mysterious taste of Sandburg's Ceylon tea, the sweetness of dates in maple syrup, a provocative hint of all- natural mint toothpaste. And under all that was a taste as warm and generous as Blair himself.

For a moment Jim pressed forward, inhaling the wonderful scents and tastes, absorbing the sensations into his very pores. Then he felt arms wrap around his shoulders, and alarm exploded in his gut. He pushed back hard, and Blair flew away from him.

Jim opened his eyes to find himself standing with Blair sprawled on the floor, holding his head where it had hit the coffee table. Tea ran across the wooden surface and dripped down to the carpet. Jim was panting hard, out of panic more than breathlessness. "If you think," he growled, "that you're going to seduce me with that Persian folklore crap, buster, you've, you've -- you've got another think coming." He pulled the back of his hand across his mouth with distaste and stomped up the stairs. For several minutes, he lay on his bed staring at the ceiling, trying to force his breathing to slow down. God! What was that? Why had he responded like that without even thinking? What the hell did Sandburg think he was doing?

Eventually he pushed his panicked confusion aside into the little box where it belonged. He extended his hearing into the living room and heard Sandburg climbing to his feet with a groan. The young man muttered several expletives under his breath and staggered to the bathroom.

A new fear besieged Jim. What if Sandburg walked out because of this? That was the way he had been raised; when the going got tough, the Sandburgs got going -- right out the door. So far, Blair had stuck with Jim through some pretty rough times, but this was different. This was direct, personal rejection.

Not that Jim would consider taking back that rejection -- just the thought made his stomach tense uncomfortably. But maybe he should soften the blow a little. He had seen Sandburg's journals; he knew how the kid felt about him. However impulsive that kiss had been, Sandburg's feelings were real.

Jim descended the stairs, unconsciously using his stealthiest gait. He paused at the door of the bathroom, listening to the rush of water inside. As bachelors, he and Sandburg had never been very conscious of each other's private space, but now was not the time to push it. Jim knocked. "Sandburg? Can I come in?"

The water stopped. "No."

Jim blinked. "I -- I wanted to apologize."

"You can talk to me through the door." Blair's voice was strangely muffled. Was he _crying_?

Jim gathered himself. "Look, I know my reaction was . . . a little out of proportion --"

"Try a _lot_ out of proportion," Sandburg returned.

"Okay. But I just want you to know -- that wasn't because of you. It was me."

"You think I don't know that, man?"

Jim closed his eyes slowly. "Well, now you know that I know, too. You caught me by surprise, and that's -- it's not the kind of surprise I react well to."

Blair snorted. "So I noticed."

Jim pressed his forehead against the doorframe. "Are you -- are you going to move out?"

"Up to you, man, it's your place."

Jim considered. "Do you want to move out?"

"I will if you ask me to."

They were talking in circles here. Jim swallowed hard and took the plunge. "I'd like you to stay."

"All right. But we need to talk first." Sandburg's words ended in a pained gasp.

"What are you doing in there?"

Sandburg hissed. "I'm just trying to clean my head."

Jim stiffened. He had not been smelling anything since the moment he pushed Sandburg away, but now he consciously opened his senses. There it was: blood. He turned and focused in on a red smear on the corner of the coffee table. "Jesus, Sandburg!" he pushed the door open and stormed in. The kid was bending over the sink, shirtless, his long curls matted with blood. "Why the hell didn't you say something? How bad is it?"

"How'm I supposed to know, man? It's on the wrong fucking side of my head!"

"Okay, hold still, let me see." Jim parted the strands of hair carefully.

"I thought I asked you to stay out of here."

Jim froze. "Fine. You don't want me to touch you, I'll take you to the hospital instead."

Blair grumbled into the sink. "No, go ahead and look at it."

Jim studied the ugly gash. "I think you can get away without stitches."

"Good. I hate having my head shaved."

"Well, actually --"

"Aw, no, man!"

"It's down in the back. I can cut out a hank and it won't even be visible."

"Except on windy days." Blair paused. "Well, go on! My back's getting tired from bending over like this."

Jim pulled a pair of hair scissors from the medicine cabinet and steered Blair over to the edge of the bathtub. "Sit down. That way I can get at it without you having to bend over." He chose his spot carefully and snipped away a few locks of hair at the root. "I'm going to put one butterfly bandage on it. Then you keep ice on it for fifteen minutes. Wait at least forty-eight hours before you wash your hair."

"It's got blood in it, man!"

"Okay, you can rinse it out first. No soap, and use cool water -- otherwise you'll make the bleeding worse." Jim collected some gauze while Blair washed his hair out, muttering in some language Jim didn't know. When Blair was finished, Jim pressed the gauze to the wound until the bleeding was almost stopped. Then he pressed a small bandage over the hairless area, holding the edges of the gash closed. "Okay. Go get a clean shirt and put some ice on it."

"Man, it's going to take forever for my hair to dry if I can't use a blow dryer!"

"Sorry, Darwin. I'll put the fire on so you don't catch a cold."

As he turned to leave the bathroom, Jim caught sight of the bloody curls he had dropped in the sink. If he had seen those at any other time today, while he was tracking Iris and her drug-smuggling friends, he would have been filled instantly with red rage. But who was there to be angry at now? He picked up the locks and flushed them down the toilet. Then he went out to the living room, cleaned the blood and spilled tea from the coffee table, and got out some liniment.

"Come on over here," he urged as Blair reappeared from his bedroom. "If you hit your head that hard, you probably strained your neck, too. Let me put some liniment on it and make sure you didn't pull anything."

Blair looked him up and down for a moment before going to the kitchen for some ice. Then he padded obediently into the living room and sat on the floor with his back to the couch.

Jim sighed in relief. "Just hold the ice in place and keep your hair out of my way." He reached through the neck of the sweatshirt to knead Blair's shoulder muscles, feeling the extra tension on one side where the head had been wrenched aside. But nothing was torn, the vertebrae were in line, and the tendons and ligaments were intact.

Blair flinched as Jim searched out a nerve cluster. "That hurts, man!"

"It's supposed to. I'm checking for nerve damage."

"Well, apparently they're fine, so why don't you just leave it?"

"Let me put some more liniment on here first." Jim began a more soothing massage, now that he had ruled out any injuries. Slowly Blair began to relax under his hands. "Look, Chief . . . I really am sorry about this. Why don't I take you out to breakfast tomorrow, make it up to you?"

There was a long silence. "I don't think that's a good idea, Jim."

Jim's hands fell from his partner's shoulders. "Why not?"

"Umm . . . you see, when I was growing up, some of Naomi's boyfriends -- well, they didn't always have real good control of their temper, you know? I learned about domestic violence first hand, at an early age. And one of the things I learned is that you have to set some ground rules."

"Wait a second. Domestic violence? Is that what you're calling this? Come on, Chief, that's going a little overboard, wouldn't you say?"

Blair turned to face him. "Is this my home, Jim?"

"Huh?"

"You said you want me to stay. Should I consider this my home?"

"Well, yeah."

"Okay. Now, I think of you as being like family to me. Would you say that's true? Are we that close?"

"Closer, if you think about what my family is like."

"Right. And you won't deny that this --" He raised the ice briefly away from his cut head. "-- represents violence."

"It was an accident, Chief. I didn't mean for you to get hurt."

"But you did shove me deliberately. You used force against me."

Jim swallowed. "You startled me. I wasn't thinking."

Blair took a deep breath. "Jim, I know. I know this is partly my fault too, for being dumb."

"No --"

"I was really stupid to think that, that I could help you get over your hangups with one kiss. I shouldn't have done that, and I apologize. But I don't think I deserved a concussion as punishment."

"You're not concussed."

"I could have been, if the coffee table had been just a few inches over."

He could have been killed, if he'd struck his head at a slightly different angle. Jim said nothing.

"So. Violence in the home. Violence within a family, even if it's not a traditional family. I'd say that's domestic violence, Jim. And I don't want it to become a pattern."

"Fine," Jim said in disgust. "What are your ground rules, then?"

"There is no apologizing. There is no making up. Breakfast, or dinner, or presents can't compensate for something like this, Jim. The only possible way to make it better is never to do it again."

"But I thought . . ." Jim remembered that Blair hadn't actually said any words of forgiveness. "I thought you understood."

"I do understand, Jim. But that doesn't mean I want it repeated. And the best way to keep it from repeating is not to tell you that everything's okay, that I forgive you. Because it's not okay."

Jim swallowed. "What's going to happen, then? To us. The partnership."

Sandburg dropped the bag of ice into his lap and placed a chilled hand on Jim's forearm. "That depends on how we treat this, Jim. It doesn't have to be the end, okay?"

"Come on, Sandburg. Face it, this is going to change everything!"

"There will be some changes, but not everything. Look, you know I'm not exactly experienced at this best-friend thing, right? But I am familiar with the theory."

"Theory?" Jim groaned and rubbed his temples.

"From psychology. See, in the early stages of friendship, you're always getting closer. Every day you learn a little bit more about each other, every day there's a little more trust and a little more willingness to depend on each other, right? But there's only so close you can get. Everyone has limits, Jim. Everyone has a point where they just don't want to let anyone closer. When a friendship hits that point, it comes to a critical decision. If you want the friendship to go on, what you need to do is to define those limits carefully and agree -- both of us agree -- never to cross them. We have to learn a different kind of trust, you see?"

Jim frowned. "I suppose."

"So, for instance. You made your limits pretty clear tonight. I have to agree not to challenge them. Okay, Jim? I promise, man, I will never try to kiss you again."

"Sandburg . . ." Jim murmured, growing uncomfortable.

"I will not make a pass at you or act in an overtly sexual manner towards you. Okay?"

"Fine. Sounds great." Jim looked away.

"And you would have to promise not to shove me around. No grabbing, or pushing up against walls, okay? Just because you're stronger, that doesn't make it right."

Jim's face was burning. "Look, Sandburg, I'm sorry about all that. It won't happen again."

"No, Jim. Look at me. I don't just want some facile promise. I want you to understand that this is what I _need_ from you in order to continue this friendship. It's not an ultimatum, just a statement of fact. This won't work unless you cooperate."

Jim nodded, his mouth dry.

"Okay. So the idea is, we define our limits, we agree not to cross them. For a little while things may be kinda awkward, until we learn we can trust each other in this new way, trust each other not to push too hard. But we can do it, man. I know we can. This doesn't have to break us. Okay?"

Jim nodded again.

"Good." Sandburg stood up. "If I'm not concussed, does that mean I can go to bed now?"

"Yeah, I'll --" Jim caught himself. "If it's okay with you, I can listen in during the night and make sure you're okay."

Blair grinned. "You're getting the hang of it, man. But that would be a pretty major sacrifice, asking a Sentinel not to eavesdrop. Go ahead and listen man, I expect it." He headed for the bathroom to brush his teeth, leaving Jim staring at the leaping flames in the wood stove.

"Hey, Jim?"

Jim started, realizing he had been on the verge of zoning. Sandburg was all ready for bed, standing in the doorway to his room. "Yeah?" Jim croaked hoarsely.

"I said I didn't think you should treat me to breakfast tomorrow, right? But that doesn't mean I wouldn't like to have breakfast with you. Say, the Waffle Shop?"

Jim felt his jaw ease a little. "Sounds good. Nine o'clock? I don't have to be in 'til noon."

"Perfect. Night, man." Sandburg disappeared into his bedroom.

Jim watched the flames, courting a zone-out, until they had died down to sullen embers. He listened to his partner's breathing. He tracked the sounds of the city below. As weary as he was, he knew better than to try to sleep.


End file.
